Page 18

Lori

It was the worst moment of my life.

Okay, maybe not the worst. I’d had a lot of worst moments over the past year. But as my skin prickled cold with the realisation that Seb was going to turn me down – LoonieDunes, who I kind of knew had had a puppy-dog crush on me, was turning me down – mortification sluiced over me like sweat.

I hoofed it for the door, turning away with a cry of ‘Forget it! Of course it’s a bad idea!

’ and hoping he didn’t hear the stifled choke as my throat closed.

I hated that I was upset – about something so stupid.

I’d just lost a race because of a horse!

It didn’t matter if some guy didn’t want to sleep with me.

‘You’ve just heaved your guts up anyway. I shouldn’t have asked.’

Ouch, taking it out on him was petulant and unfair and I regretted my words as soon as they were out of my mouth.

‘Forget I said that too,’ I muttered over my shoulder. ‘You busted your butt today and I have nothing but respect and… well done.’

Ohhhh, shit. I was going to cry.

I’d always thought that one of the best reasons to watch road cycling was the opportunity to see grown men cry.

We put ourselves through hell, sacrificed the good things in life – a lot more than just cheese – for shit days like this and tears weren’t uncommon.

But I was supposed to be tough. I’d been brought up to be resilient.

That day I burst into tears like a 7-year-old who’d skinned their knee at the park. To make everything worse, Seb’s posture softened immediately and that place on his shoulder, right near the crooked collarbone, looked more inviting than a comfy bed with a laptop for Netflix.

‘Don’t touch me!’ I said when he took a single step in my direction. ‘I’ll go as soon as—’ Hiccough .

‘What did you do with Amir?’ he asked, glancing down the hall behind me before closing the door.

It took me a second to clock the subject change.

‘You think I lured your roommate out so I could have my wicked way with you? I just saw he was settled downstairs. It was opportunistic, not planned. And I just needed to get out of my—’ Damn it, thinking of my own roommate and the team I’d let down made my eyes sting afresh.

‘If you want to… sit down—’

I just glared at him in response. But instead of looking away from the awkward display of emotion, he studied me – too closely.

‘Just to be clear,’ he began, in a tone that gave me goosebumps and reminded me of isolated Spanish B&Bs with tiny showers. ‘I would love nothing more than to tackle you onto the bed and touch you until you definitely get lucky again.’

The tingles whooshed to my hairline and, as much as my pride protested, the weakness in my legs was louder. I groped for the armchair by the desk and sank into it.

‘But not for superstition.’

‘You’re the superstitious one!’ I insisted. ‘I’m just desperate.’

‘Exactly,’ he said with a wince.

‘Not that—’ I released a frustrated breath. ‘Desperate for something to go right – not so desperate that I’m settling for you. God, have some self-respect! I thought everyone in this sport was supposed to be on an ego trip.’

‘Not farm boy Walloons, I’m afraid,’ he deadpanned, but I was so all over the place that I didn’t laugh. ‘I have enough self-respect that we can’t do the thing right now unless you want a very unimpressive performance and too much Vaseline.’

He dropped earnestly down in front of me and my throat was tight again – my stomach was tight, everything was suddenly tied up in knots. For a guy who warned me he might be shit in bed right now, he had no right to have such warm eyes under those lashes.

‘But I want to help you get your luck back and I have an idea. Can you walk?’

‘If you can.’

‘Just let me get dressed and we can go,’ he said, clutching the towel and flashing a muscular thigh as he stood up.

I shouldn’t have made a habit of ogling him while he dressed, but the chair was comfortable and he didn’t ask me to leave, so I dipped my head and watched out of the corner of my eye as he tugged on a pair of snug boxers, jeans and a soft T-shirt, tossing a hoodie on the bed as he sat to pull on his socks.

‘Can I borrow that?’ I asked, making him look up from his task, his tongue tucked between his teeth.

The ripple of something warm and dangerous through me was alarming.

It was a goofy action, poking his tongue out when he concentrated, but that didn’t stop me staring as he licked his lip before answering.

‘My sweatshirt?’ he asked with a frown.

I didn’t want to admit how reluctant I was to go back to my room and see Doortje. But I was only wearing a light shirt and it was March outside.

‘Sure,’ he said before I had finished overthinking.

He handed me the black hoodie and rummaged for something else in his suitcase, coming away with an old canvas jacket.

But as I slipped the hoodie over my head, catching the light scent of his deodorant and unfamiliar washing powder, my skin was oversensitive to the fact that it was Seb who’d softened this material with his body.

And as he shrugged into his jacket and flicked up the collar, he looked edgy and fashionable, while I was wearing a tracksuit, with my hair not properly brushed after washing it. My Italian heritage was screaming in dismay and my libido was screaming something else entirely.

When he shot me a brief smile before heading for the door, I suspected everything I did at the moment was doomed to backfire – but I wouldn’t be doomed alone.

I should have been resting – my brain and my body – but instead I was outside, breathing in the tangy air, running my fingers along the irregular brickwork of the old city wall, with its niches and slits and little tufts of hardy grass growing in the cracks.

Silvery olive trees grew down into the valley, with a few stone pines, tall and dark in the distance.

Keeping the ancient terracotta bricks under my fingertips, I was less tempted to snatch Seb’s hand. I wanted to say something about the sensation of the sharp air in my overworked lungs, the curl of exhaustion in my spine, the strange feeling of walking companionably in silence.

‘I don’t like surprises,’ I said softly instead.

‘We’re going up there,’ he said, gesturing to the brick edifice at the top of a cliff ahead of us, flanked by cypress trees. Low rays from the afternoon sun hit it from one side, making the enormous church glow orange.

It wasn’t the Duomo di Siena, the cathedral, which I’d visited a handful of times to gawk at its striped facade and gilded interior.

This church was blocky and dark and almost forbidding, the way it perched on the hill looking down on the common folk.

The crumbling houses of the historic centre of Siena tumbled down the hill before it, clustered as though huddling against the evil eye.

Perhaps I had the evil eye, the malocchio my mum had never satisfactorily explained to me, since it didn’t make actual sense, but every Italian respected it anyway.

‘Are you going to make it up the hill?’ I asked.

‘You might have to drag me,’ he rasped. ‘But, if I lay down right now, I think I’d turn to stone, so I need to keep moving.’

‘Wouldn’t want you to become a Sienese gargoyle when you’ve only just signed on,’ I quipped. ‘Dare I ask what we’re going to find up there?’

‘Your luck!’ he said pointedly and maybe he was even more eccentric than the Italians. ‘Here’s the first stop,’ he continued, gesturing to a squat brick construction with three pointed arches.

I peered doubtfully at the old building as he strutted to the archways and beckoned for me.

‘Have you got a coin? Come on!’

As I came closer, I saw still water shimmering in a pool through the arches, reflecting the vaulted ceiling.

‘What is this place?’ As many times as I’d been to Siena, I’d never stopped to look under this crumbling arcade.

The water was clear and tinged blue. A flash of movement drew my eye – fish meandering beneath the surface.

‘A water source for the town from mediaeval times. Here, if you don’t have your purse, let me find one.’ He pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

‘I don’t see any other coins in there,’ I said doubtfully. ‘It’s not exactly the Trevi Fountain. Maybe we’re not allowed.’

‘Since when do you care about rules when winning is on the line?’

I scowled at him, but he had a point. ‘Okay, give it here.’ Holding out my hand, I waited while he rummaged in his beat-up leather wallet.

‘Ehm, I don’t have any,’ he said flatly. ‘Except—’ Opening a zip at the back, he retrieved a tiny brass coin. ‘This is perfect. It’s my lucky one cent.’

‘I can’t take your lucky one cent.’

‘It’s exactly what you need to do! And don’t worry, I definitely found it with the heads up for good luck and not the tails for bad luck.’ He pressed it into my hand and peered urgently at me.

With a sigh, I closed my hand around the coin. ‘Do I have to throw it over my shoulder?’

‘No idea. You’re not wishing to come back to Siena – although maybe you are, next year for the Strade Bianche, where you’ll win!’

Giving him a shove with my closed fist, I turned away and hurled the coin over my shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut. I heard a ping, but no splash. ‘Did it go in?’

‘Ehm,’ he hesitated, ‘not quite. Hold on. I’ll get it.’

With a groan, I watched him hop up the steps and press himself into the ancient brick wall.

‘Seb, no!’ I cried as he stretched out a foot and wobbled onto a moss-covered stone sticking out of the wall.

Balancing precariously, he reached out for the next stone with a grunt of effort. ‘Stop! You’re going to—’

I buried my face in my hands as his foot slipped into the water with a splash.

‘For crying out loud,’ I muttered, but he turned to me with a triumphant smile, holding up the tiny coin, before sloshing back to the steps through the water.

Luckily it wasn’t deep, but he’d soaked his trainers and socks and the bottoms of his jeans.

‘Next time we just beg a cent from a stranger,’ I mumbled.

‘Next time?’ he repeated slowly. With a swallow and a measured nod, he continued, ‘We’ll get your luck back and then there doesn’t have to be a next time, hmm?’

Why I experienced a sinking feeling at his words, I didn’t want to know. Watching carefully this time, I threw the coin gently into the old water source, letting it plop without fanfare.

‘How do you even know what’s heads and tails with euro coins? There are no people on them.’ I asked suddenly.

‘I think it’s the side with the map of Europe,’ he replied, tugging off his shoes and squeezing out his socks.

‘You think ?’

His frown didn’t exactly inspire confidence. ‘I hope ? But we still have the next stop on Lori’s lucky tour of Siena.’ He grinned up at me, all dimples and gut-punching brightness, and I gulped.

‘Do you need to go back and change your shoes?’ I asked warily.

He shook his head, tying up his laces again. ‘Let’s just go up to the church. It’s not far now.’

‘Why this particular one? The cathedral is prettier.’

‘Don’t judge a church by its facade. It’s not the basilica we’re visiting, but what’s inside. Come on!’